


Intoxicated

by msindyjones



Category: MacGyver (TV 1985)
Genre: Light Angst, alcohol use, maybe hurt comfort, mostly humor tho, or At Least an Attempt at Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msindyjones/pseuds/msindyjones
Summary: Mac has an unexpected run in with some Russians and gets unexpectedly drunk.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, as we all know Mac doesn't drink. But I gotta say I was pretty upset when the show never took the chance to forcibly get him drunk. Because in my head, Drunk!Mac would be hilarious. And this is my attempted at portraying that.

“Drink it.” The Russian accented voice said as a glass with clear liquid was shoved across the table. Some of the contents splashing out before it came to rest. MacGyver looked at the offering.

Vodka, straight.

“Not really my drink. More of a V8 man myself.” MacGyver said as he attempted to keep an air of nonchalance. Despite two men currently holding a gun level with his head behind him.  His dry humor fell flat. The man opposite of Mac frowned. The motion accenting a scar that pulled at his eye. He stood suddenly, his chair toppled behind him. He reached for Mac, grabbing a fist full of his collar to yank him forward.

“You will answer my questions. You will drink what we give you. Or we will put you on street with bullet holes in your body.” He said in a hushed, grave voice that held every indication that he was deadly serious. MacGyver winced in his grasp, his throat restricted by the clenched fabric. He held the man’s gaze, trying to figure his way out of this situation.

_Now, I’ve been in a lotta bad positions. But I can usually explain how I ended up in them. This time, it all came outta nowhere. I was workin’ just another assignment for the Foundation. It winded which way and that. Had more bends than the Mississippi river. And it put a loom to shame with the woven layers. I ended up in another dusty warehouse that happened to be occupied by some Russians. I tried my best to avoid them, since I was certain they had nothing to do with my business. They however, had the opposite idea. I had the misfortune of bein’ caught. Next thing I knew I was in a scuffle and hit over the head with some sorta firearm, I’m sure._

_Woke up surrounded by these three happy comrades. They think I’m a spy sent into gather information and want to know what I know. Problem is: I don’t know anything. Second problem is: they don’t believe me._

“Look, really. I’m not spying on you guys. Wrong place, wrong time.” Mac said strained with the pressure around his throat. The Russian kept his grip, pulling MacGyver closer before releasing him with a shove. Landing in the chair with a grunt, Mac had no time to recover before a fist landed in his solar plexus. A hand came from behind to grab a fist full of hair. Yanking MacGyver upright from his doubled over position. One of the other men behind him had the glass of vodka to his lips. Forcing the bitter spirit into his mouth. MacGyver didn’t swallow, he spat the alcohol out on the feet of the man at his side.

The act of defiance was not received well. With a small, single nod from the leader of this group, the two men acted with the silent order. Another punch to the stomach, the bottle of vodka shoved against Mac’s mouth until full. This time a large, calloused hand clasped tight over his mouth and nose. To escape the risk of choking, Mac unwillingly drank the alcohol. The vodka burned all the way down, sitting uneasy in his stomach. Once the man holding his mouth was sure he swallowed, he removed his hand. Allowing MacGyver to cough and wince at the bitter after taste.

“Feel like telling us what you know?” The lead Russian asked, his face devoid of any emotion.

“I’m serious. I don’t have anything to tell you. I don’t even know what you wanna know!” MacGyver said through lingering coughs. One of the men gathered some rope to secure MacGyver to the chair. Given the time and means he could easily escape. But not with three large, armed, Russians gathered around him. There was no sign that they were going to leave him to think things over for a while either.

“Hmm.” The man hummed as he turned his head to give MacGyver a sidelong glance. “We’ll see about that.” Lifting his hand, he gave another confirmation to repeat the same treatment as earlier. MacGyver attempted to fight against their grips. He writhed in the chair but his attempts to escape were fruitless. A few well-placed blows, his mouth filled with vodka again and he was forced to drink. The high proof but poorly distilled alcohol burned just as bad the second time.

Vodka dripped from Mac’s lips and over his chin. He sputtered, spitting out the sour taste. “You could have at least gotten something top shelf.” His glib remark earned a backhanded slap that left a stinging mark on his cheek. 

After the fourth drink the room began to tilt.

Two hours and six shots later, the Russians believed MacGyver.

“What should we do with him?” The man who was in charge of the physical aspect of Mac’s treatment asked.

Standing, the lead Russian looked over the American in his stupor. “Drop him on the street.”

 

The sudden ringing caught Pete by surprise. He put so much focus into the work at hand, he disconnected from the world around him. Until the shrill phone disrupted his focus. A quick glance at the clock and he was surprised by the hour. It was far later than he was expecting. Twenty after eleven. Two thoughts occurred to him simultaneously. First, he stayed at work much later than planned. Second, MacGyver was due to check in hours ago. He snatched the receiver to answer the call.

“Hello?” He asked, something about the call and situation gave him a bad feeling.

“Hello, Peter Thornton?” The voice on the other end asked.

“Yes, this is him.”

“I’m Officer Ganze with the LAPD. I’m calling in regards to a, uh,” The officer’s voice trailed and held the phone away from him mouth. Peter could hear the faint question asking to confirm someone’s first name. “In regards to a, Mr. MacGyver?”

Pete’s heart sank, the feeling of dread building. “Yes? What about him?”

“He was brought to the Good Samaritan Hospital a little bit ago. He appeared to have been involved in some sort of hit and run accident.” Officer Ganze explained. “He seemed to,”

“I’ll be right there.” Pete said, cutting off the officer. He didn’t need any more details until he got to the hospital. He cursed himself as he hung up without formally ending the call. Pete knew he should have stayed aware of the time. He was responsible for MacGyver’s safety and he let him down. He grabbed his jacket and left the office. Even Karen had gone. Peter wondered when she left. Surely she had stopped into his office to say goodbye. The files he had been working on weren’t that important. How had he gotten so engrossed to shut out the world? Now his closest friend was in the hospital because of his carelessness.

 

Peter arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later. He wove through the crowd of the emergency room to make his way to the front desk. “Hi, I’m looking for a patient. MacGyver?” Peter asked with urgency in his voice. The attendant at the desk typed away. Glancing between his fingers and the computer screen between each letter. Peter took a deep breath, keeping himself calm. He waited what felt like hours.

“Ah yes, MacGyver. Admitted today, with injuries to…”

“Where is he?” Pete cut him off, just needing to know where to go.

The man look less than amused at the demanding nature of Pete’s tone. “Down the hall, third door on the right. Room six.” He said as he pointed in the correct direction without taking his attention from Pete. 

“Thank you.” Peter managed in an exasperated voice before he jogged down the hallway. He stopped outside the closed door, his hand resting on the handle. He prepared himself for whatever condition Mac would be in on the other side. After a few seconds, he knocked to be polite but opened the door immediately after. He walked around a small wall and a curtain was around the bed. “MacGyver?” Peter asked, hoping he was awake as he drew back the thin hanging material.

“Oh! Hiya, Pete!” MacGyver almost shouted once the curtain was out of the way. He was grinning wide and waved. His right arm in a sling and a swathe. His cheerful greeting was unexpected. Pete furrowed his brow, unsure how to act.

“Hi… Mac.” He said as he looked over his friend’s condition. “How are you?”

“Me? Oh, man. I’m… I am great! Thank  _you_  for askin’!” MacGyver said with a slight slur to his words.

Peter’s worry didn’t recede. It increased. “One second, Mac.” Peter backed away from the end of the bed. He turned to leave the room, almost running into a young woman that was headed inside. “Sorry.” Pete apologized. The woman seeming unfazed by the near collision. “Are you one of the care providers for Mr. MacGyver?”

“Yes, I’m Nurse Jones. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes. Did Mac suffer some sort of head injury?” Pete asked.

Jones shook her head. “The CT and MRI both came back clear. He does seem to have a few symptoms of a concussion, however.”

Peter frowned. “Was he given a lot of pain medication?” He asked keeping his exasperation at a minimum.

“No. He wasn’t given any.”

“He was hit by a car and isn’t being managed for pain?”

“Normally we would administer morphine as needed. But Mr. MacGyver is far to intoxicated to be given any sort of analgesic.”

“He… you...” Peter stammered and then smiled, chuckling. Jones raised her brows. “He’s drunk?” Peter managed to ask while shaking his head. “No, no. Mac doesn’t drink!” He defended.

Nurse Jones shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. He came in and registered a blood alcohol content of zero point eleven. The police assume that’s how he got hit by the car. Wandered into the street and didn’t even realize it. He’s lucky he isn’t dead.” She said with a hint of condescendence.

“Look… I know MacGyver. He  _does not_  drink! And not because he has some sort of problem with alcohol. He chooses not to drink because of what it does to people.” Peter said annoyed with the nurse’s attitude.

“Well, he made the choice to drink tonight. For everyone’s sake I hope he doesn’t make that choice again. Especially for himself.” Jones took a breath. “He sustained a fracture to his collar bone. As well as a shoulder dislocation. It was a serious injury but the doctors were successful in reducing his shoulder. We were unable to give him any pain medication during the procedure. But it seemed that he was drunk enough that he wasn't in a lot of discomfort.”

Peter was hardly listening. He wanted to get back into MacGyver’s room to ask him what happened. Ask him how he ended up so drunk. “Is he okay to go home?” Peter asked when it seemed that Nurse Jones finished talking.

“We are waiting for the radiologist to look at his shoulder x-ray of post reduction. Make sure that it was done properly and his shoulder is back in alignment. If he gets the all clear he could be discharged. I wouldn’t recommend he's left alone while still under the influence.” She said pointedly.

“I’ll stay with him.” Peter confirmed, albeit unnecessarily.  

She gave a short nod. “Good. I’ll go find the radiologist. Feel free to see him.” She motioned to MacGyver’s room with a sweep of her arm before heading down the hall. Peter took a moment to push down the peeved feeling he had before going back to see MacGyver.

Mac was staring at the ceiling when Pete walked back in. With one eye closed he looked focused. Peter stood at the end of the bed quietly. Unsure what Mac was doing. Pete cleared his throat to get his attention. “Ya know,” MacGyver said as he brought his head forward in a dramatic roll. “They should really think ‘bout puttin’ somethin’ way better to look at on the ceiling. Especially!” MacGyver pointed at Pete with his good hand. “Especially, at the dentist. I mean, ya are sittin’ there with tools in your mouth.” Mac hooked his index finger around his cheek and pulled downwards. “And the dentist is drillin’… away and you got nothin’ to look at!” He pulled his finger from his mouth, wiping the spit on shirt.

Peter watched MacGyver, still in a state of disbelief. He could not comprehend that Mac was currently drunk. It was such a foreign idea he never even considered it to be a possibility. MacGyver was still rambling on about ceiling tiles needing to be painted for patients. “Mac, what happened?” Peter interrupted.

Mac blinked unevenly. “What  _happened_?” He repeated.

“Yeah! To you! What happened to you? Are you drunk right now?”

MacGyver took a deep breath but winced and exhaled with a pained sigh. “It was the Russians, Pete! They we’re all, ‘Tell us vhat you know’.” Mac mimicked a Russian accent with a scowl on his face and straightened his back. He scoffed. “I told ‘em! Oh, I told ‘em alright. I told ‘em I know nothin’! Did they listen? No. Just more, ‘Tell us. Now.’ They were mighty rude, Pete. Mighty rude.” MacGyver’s accent was pronounced and Pete had a hard time taking his friend serious.

“The Russians got you drunk?” Peter asked to keep the story straight.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I just told ya. Because I wouldn’t tell them what I know. But I didn’t know anything.” MacGyver said with exasperation.

“Where did they come from?”

“I dunno. Russia probably.”

Peter couldn’t help but to chuckle. “How did you encounter them?” Peter changed his question hoping to get a better answer.

“Actually, now that I think about it… they might not have been Russian. Maybe Ukrainian, Czechoslovakian, Belarusian…”

“Mac. Mac,” Pete interrupted again, trying to keep MacGyver focused. “Doesn’t matter where they were from. How did you get drunk?”

“With alcohol.” Mac answered matter-o-fact. “C two, H six, O. Molar mass, forty-six point zero…”

“MacGyver!”

“What?” He whined.

Peter put his hand over his face and pulled it down over his chin. “Where were you when… these people got you drunk?”

MacGyver didn’t answer. He went quiet and stared at Pete, squinting one eye. “I. Don’t. Know.” He said punctuating each word. Pete sighed. He tried not to get annoyed. He had to remind himself that this wasn’t MacGyver’s fault. He just wasn’t used to him being difficult. Well, he was used to that but not like this. Peter was about to ask another question when Nurse Jones came into the room. Pete was partially glad for the interruption. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get any straight answers while MacGyver was in this state. Jones gave a warm smile as she entered. One that seemed superficial to Peter from their earlier encounter.

“Mr. MacGyver, your x-ray looks good. You’ve been cleared to go home. Assuming, um…” She looked up to Peter.

“Mr. Thornton.” Peter supplied.

“… takes you home.” She finished and added. “And stays with you until you are sober.”

“But, alternative idea, what if you took me home, Miss Jones?” MacGyver asked with a wink. Causing Jones to smirk.

“As much as I’d love that, I have to work.”

“Aw, come on. You can come over. Wear your uniform, play a little Nurse and…”

“MacGyver!” Peter cut Mac off, mortified.

“What, Pete?!”

Nurse Jones laughed. “No, MacGyver. Your friend gets to take you home. But come back when you aren’t drunk and we’ll talk. Mr. Thornton, may I speak with you in the hallway?” Peter was more than pleased to leave with the nurse. He shut the door behind him once they reached the corridor. “As I said, Mr. MacGyver’s x-ray looked good. We're going to release him to your care. If he is feeling up to it tomorrow, I would take him to see his regular practitioner.” She reached into her front scrubs pocket and produced two pieces of paper. “This is a prescription for four days’ worth of Vicodin and a muscle relaxant. Please, do not give it to him while he is drunk. They do not go with alcohol and could cause some serious issues. I would just wait until tomorrow to get them filled.” She handed them over but held on to the paper even when Peter tried to take them.

“Okay, I understand.” Once Peter confirmed he understood, Jones released the prescriptions.

“Good. I’ll get his discharge papers. Good luck.”

 

The wheelchair out of the hospital made the trip to the car a breeze. The act of getting MacGyver into the car was the difficult part. Peter stood by with a watchful eye as two male attendants helped him into the passenger seat. He was still in a state of shock over this whole situation. He had dealt with picking up Mac from the hospital before. Handled him while sick, drugged and in bad moods. But drunk? It was unnatural. Nurse Jones stood next to Peter, her arms crossed and held tight to her chest.

“I’d make sure he drinks a lot of water. If what you say is true, and he never drinks,” She shook her head. In a way that showed pity for MacGyver. “Then he’s gonna have one hell of a bad day tomorrow.”

Pete winced. He hadn’t even thought about the hellacious hangover that Mac was going to have. “Thank you, I’ll see that he does.” He raised his hand for a goodbye once MacGyver was situated. He got into the car and glanced over as he turned the engine. Mac leaned his head against the window as he stared out. Thankful that it wasn’t a long drive, Peter pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. They drove in silence for a while. Pete assumed that MacGyver fell asleep until he spoke.

“Yanno what I don’t understand?” Mac asked as he continued to look out the window.

Peter readied himself for whatever conversation was about to start. “What?”

“It’s just that there is no way that fourth street was the fourth street. This wasn’t where roads were invented.” Mac leaned into the seat, giving his attention to Pete.

“I think it is the fourth street for this city.” Pete pointed out.

MacGyver shook his head. “Nah. I mean maybe. Even then, I highly doubt that, that street was the fourth one put in. I think people were lazy. Naming streets after numbers. Sure, it makes it easier to navigate. On second street? Need to find thirtieth? Go thirty-eight streets down.”

“There isn't a thirtieth street.”

“Well, why not? The street twenty-nine blocks away from first street is thirtieth. And how did they decide which way to go? If you go north the street numbers increase. Technically, if ya go south twenty-nine blocks, you should be at negative twenty-ninth street. Negative thirtieth street? Can you have a zero street? No. No zero street. Well, maybe. Someone should call the city manager and ask. Remind me to do that when I get home.”

Pete shook his head out of amusement. “Will do, Mac.” Despite how wrong it felt for Mac to be drunk, the inhibitions offered an interesting insight into how his brain operated. Pete figured Mac didn’t spend his time thinking about street numbers. But to even consider there should be negative numbers involved showed a hint of how he would think while sober. In fact, Pete never considered it. He knew that MacGyver was a great problem solver, that was irrefutable. The attention to detail and memory recall of hundreds of facts at any given moment. Only for that to be scrambled when a little alcohol's introduced.

Mac leaned his head against the rest behind him. He closed his eyes, his brow knitted slightly. Peter glanced over when he went quiet for a few minutes.

“You okay?” Pete asked. MacGyver didn’t respond verbally, he hummed. Pete was unable to tell if the sound indicated he was okay or not. He made sure to keep an eye on him a bit more as they reached closer to home.

 

“Just wait there.” Peter said as he shut off the engine and climbed out of the driver seat. “Careful now.” He hovered as MacGyver climbed out the car, swaying as he stood. From the time MacGyver was admitted and discharged a few hours passed. Bringing down his level of intoxication. Yet still enough for Peter to have to babysit him. Pete held on to Mac’s good elbow as they made their way down the boardwalk. He kept out a keen eye to make sure there was nothing in their path for MacGyver to trip over.

“I can walk, yanno.” MacGyver stated with the annoyance of a small child as he attempted to pull his elbow from Pete’s grasp.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Peter worked harder than expected to make MacGyver walk in a straight line. Cursing the fact that the man lived in a houseboat. They were almost there when Mac stopped walking. “What is it?” Peter asked concerned.

Mac closed his eyes, swaying. “I can feel… the water.” He whispered. His swaying became pronounced. “I can feel the water.”

“I’m sure you can.” Pete said as he pressed MacGyver to move along. It took a decent nudge and he almost had to pull him along. But they finally reached the front door. “Where are your keys?” Peter asked when he realized the front door was locked. MacGyver used his hand to check his pockets. Slapping each one in an exaggerated motion before he looked at Pete with an equally exaggerated frown.

 “I don’t have them.” He said with a sigh.

“Great. Do you have a spare hiding anywhere?”

“And what? Let someone find it and invite themselves in? I bet Jack has a spare. Only way that wily nuisance could get in so easily. Call Jack, he can come let us in. He’s clever like that. He can do it.” MacGyver reached for the doorknob and continued to jiggle it as if it would magically unlock.

“I have no idea where Jack currently is, Mac.” Peter felt the need to point out. “He can’t come unlock the door. I’ll just break a window and unlock it. We can fix it later.”

MacGyver gasped audibly. “Break a window? Pete! Are ya  _crazy_?” His voice was elevated. “I got this.” Mac stuffed his hand into his front pocket and fished out his Swiss Army knife. “We don’t need Jack and we certainly don’t need to break any windows! I’ll open it.” He fumbled with the knife as he attempted to get his preferred blade used for picking locks out.

“Oh, no, no. I don’t think so.” Peter snatched the knife from Mac’s hands. “You are not using this. You’ll cut your hand open.”

“No I won’t. I could pick that lock with my eyes closed.”

“I don’t doubt that. But I do doubt you being able to do it drunk. And one armed!” Peter exclaimed with a motion to Mac’s rather pitiful appearance. “Just tell me how to do it.” MacGyver couldn’t help but to scoff with a smile. “What?” Pete asked defensive. “I can do it. I am a field agent too, you know.”

“I knooowww.” Mac said with a roll of his eyes. Peter reminded himself that this wasn’t MacGyver’s fault and this wasn’t how he acted. Pete waved the knife, a silent indication to continue. “Okay, you are going to insert the blade into the… key hole. Then you are going to have to feel for the um,” MacGyver paused as he thought. “The things. The key things.” He said holding his hand up and moving his fingers up and down. “Moving… teeth… things.”

“The tumblers?”

“Yes! The tumblers. Good call. There are six of them in that lock. And you have to move each one so that it’ll open.”

“How am I supposed to do that with just a knife?” Peter asked.

“Carefully.”

Peter stared long and hard at MacGyver. He brought his arm up and smashed his elbow through one of the panes of glass. “Whoops.” He said as he turned to clear the glass away to reach inside to unlock the door.

“Peter! That was my favorite window.” MacGyver said as he looked at the shards of glass on the welcome mat.

“I’ll get you a new one.” Peter grabbed Mac’s elbow once more. Making sure he cleared the step into the house before leading him to the couch. Assisting him as needed to sit down. After he was situated, Pete fetched him a large glass of water. “Nurse Jones wanted to make sure you drank several glasses of water before you slept. It should help with the hangover.” Pete handed the glass over, MacGyver took it but stared into it, not drinking.

“I don’t want this.” He said as he handed the glass back.

“What? Why?”

“Because I already feel like I’m going to be sick, Pete.”

“Just take a few sips, it will make you feel better.” Pete handed the glass back, Mac took it reluctant. After taking a few deep breaths, he took a few sips. Once it seemed that nothing would happen, MacGyver drank the entire glass. Satisfied, Peter set the empty cup on the coffee table. Mac sank into the couch, covering his eyes with his hand. “Are you okay?” Peter asked again.

“Will ya please stop askin’ me that?” Mac pleaded. “I’m fine.”

“I highly doubt that.” Peter scoffed. “Mac, from what I can tell you were probably kidnapped, forced to drink and had a BAC higher than you probably ever had! Which, I know nothing about because you haven’t given me a straight answer yet.” He quieted down when it appeared that MacGyver was thinking. “What now?”

“It feels like everything is spinnin’.” MacGyver admitted. He inhaled long through his nose and exhaled soft through his mouth. Mac repeated this a few times before he moved to get off the couch.

“Where are you going?” Pete asked as he made space as Mac pushed past him, heading for the stairs.

“You’re right. Not fine.” Mac said as he stumbled forward. Despite being drunk he moved just as deft as if he had been sober. Peter was right behind him, climbing the stairs and stopping at the top as MacGyver made it to the bathroom. Pete waited a beat, the sound of Mac getting sick caused him to cringe. He felt sorry for him, but he also knew throwing up would make him feel better. Pete appeared in the doorway. The sight of Mac kneeling in front of the toilet was one of the most pitiful he’d ever seen.

“Do you want me to hold your hair back?” Pete couldn’t help but to joke. MacGyver’s stylistic choices had been the bane of his working career for years. Mac groaned in response. His stomach muscles clenched, causing him to gag. Pete took that as his cue to let MacGyver have some privacy. He left the door open a crack and went to fetch another glass of water. Upon his return, Mac had made it from the bathroom to his bedroom. Sprawled out, face down. Pete set the water on the dresser.

“Come on, can’t be good to lay like that.” Peter voiced concern as he stood at the edge of the bed. When Mac didn’t respond immediately he felt twinge of panic. Perhaps taking him home wasn’t the best idea. There could have been more alcohol than expected in his system. What if he is suffering from alcohol poisoning? What if toxicology was wrong and Mac had been drugged? Staying the night in the hospital couldn’t have hurt anything. The doctors and nurses would have could kept an eye on him. While making sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Just when Pete reached the point of almost dragging MacGyver back to the emergency room, he turned to his uninjured side.

“I don’t understand.” Mac said as he buried as much of his face into his pillow as possible.

“Don’t understand what?” Pete asked.

“How could anybody  _want_  to drink enough to be drunk?” Mac’s voice slightly muffled by the pillow. “It’s the worst. Everything is still spinnin’, including my stomach. My face feels numb.” He said as he rolled to lay more on his back.

Pete watched with pity. He wished there would be a way to skip over all this but only time would bring sobriety. “Try and drink this. And maybe try and tell me what happened?” Peter suggested. Pleased when Mac took the glass from him this time. 

“Oh, I tell ya what happened. Someone, somewhere, thought it would be a good idea to actually consume alcohol! I mean, sure, back… all those years ago it was better for you than water. I probably would have died. I would have drunk water over beer or wine and died. Dead. I’d be dead. How could drinking beer have been better than water?” MacGyver asked as he attempted to sit up at the same time he held the glass in front him. Presenting it to Peter with a small shake, causing some of the water to splash onto the blankets. “Isn’t that what immune systems are for? Drink infected water and your… T lymph… T ly-lympho. Your T cells get to work.” Mac quieted for a second, staring into the glass. He took a small sip. “They had T cells then right?” MacGyver asked in almost a whisper.

Pete shook his head. “Yeah, Mac. I’m sure they had T cells back then. But are you going to tell me what happened to you?” He tried one more time.

MacGyver sighed, giving Pete a sideways glance. “Where do you want me to start?” He asked setting the glass on the night stand.

“The beginning would be best.”

Mac nodded. “Well,” He sighed again as he leaned into the headboard and pillows. “Approximately 6.4 billion years ago the solar system was a cloud of dust and gas known as a solar nebula. Gravity collapsed…”

“Mac! Not  _that_  beginning. The beginning of you getting taken by the Russians and forced to drink alcohol!” Pete was astounded by how difficult it proved to get an answer from MacGyver. And how easily he kept getting distracted. He sat on the edge of the bed, figuring this could take a while.

“The Russians.” Mac said as if he were testing out the words. “Russians. The Russians that kidnapped me. One of them had this wicked scar on his face. Really puts Al Pacino to shame.” MacGyver started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just imagined Al Pacino sayin’ ‘Say hello to my little friend!’ but in a Russian accent. Say heelo to my little comrade.” His laughing continued, sprinkled with coughing and wincing as he strained his shoulder.

It was Pete’s turn to sigh. This was proving impossible. He considered waiting until later or tomorrow. But he was concerned that Mac wouldn’t remember what happened the next day. “Can you tell me anything about earlier today? About the Russians that got you drunk? Or how about what happened afterwards?” Pete provided several different possible questions for an answer. It would either work and he would finally get some information. Or Mac would be overwhelmed and continue to not give anything of value.

“The car was a 1982 Honda Accord. Silver, license plate 6DZH014.” MacGyver spouted off.

Pete was stunned. “You remember the plate number?”

“Well, yeah, Pete. The dang car was speedin’ right at me! I didn’t have time to look at anything else. As much as I wanted to.”

“Was the car driven by one of the men who took you?”

“No,” Mac shook his head. “They just dumped me in the street. Poor guy drivin’ the car didn’t seem me till the last second.”

Not the answer Pete wanted to hear. With the driver unconnected it would be pointless to investigate in him. He wouldn’t be completely useless; he might have seen something that could help. Peter stood from the bed and dug around in the side table until he found pen and paper. He wrote down the plate number, hoping that MacGyver’s recall was correct. It was one of the first solid pieces of information he had given. Other than one of the men had a scar on his face.

“Where did these guys dump you at?” Pete asked hoping for another good answer.

“In the middle of the street.”

“Which one?”

“The one on the road.”

“They dumped you in the middle of the street that is on the road?” Pete asked with slow words to keep himself from going crazy.

“Sounds about right.” Mac said as he sunk into the pillows, his eyelids dropping with exhaustion. It only took a few minutes of silence for him to fall asleep. Peter looked his friend over, not bothering to wake him. It wouldn’t have been worth it. Instead, Pete grabbed an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over Mac’s body. He just hoped that they could make some headway tomorrow. Assuming the hangover didn’t impeded the next round of questions.

 

The blissful state of unconsciousness the alcohol caused turned into painful awareness. MacGyver grimaced before he even opened his eyes.

_Oh, my God. I must be dead. No way a person could feel like this and be alive._

A pathetic sounding groan escaped his lips as MacGyver tried to move. It took a tremendous amount of effort to sit up right. He held his injured arm steady as he managed to put his feet on the ground and stand up. As if he could sense the need, Pete appeared in the doorway by the time MacGyver crossed the room.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Pete’s voice sounded louder than necessary. MacGyver winced against the pounding in his head.

“Quiet, please.” MacGyver nearly begged, his own voice a whisper.

Pete frowned. He carefully took Mac’s arm and turned him around to guide him back to bed. “Just stay put, will you? Hangover plus the day after getting hit by a car can’t be pleasant. Alone, either would be awful. Together? No reason to bother getting up.” He pulled back the blankets and helped MacGyver get situated. “How do you feel?” Pete asked once MacGyver was settled.

Mac didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes closed, his eyebrows knitted close. “Everything hurts. Inside and out.” He finally spoke up, cracking one eye open half way. “My body feels like a cement block. And my shoulder,” His words trailed. “Is on fire.”

“I figured you’d say something like that.” Pete reached into his coat pocket and produced two prescription bottles. He went out to get them filled earlier that morning. When he was certain that Mac wouldn’t wake up and need him while he was gone. “I know you usually don’t like taking pain medication…”

“Give me whatever I’m allowed to take.” Mac said flatly. He surprised Pete with the request. It was only a good sign of how much pain he was experiencing. He handed over one of each pill and a glass of water after Mac popped them in his mouth. MacGyver sighed. It would take a bit for the medication to kick in but knowing relief was on its way was enough to relax him slightly.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” Peter went ahead and asked. If Mac didn’t know now, he wasn’t going to magically remember later.

“Not really,” Mac started as he pulled his free hand through his hair. “I remember the beginning. I ended up in a warehouse on Rue Road. There were some Russians there, completely unrelated to what I was working on. But they thought I was a spy, sent to gather information about their organization. One that knew nothing, and still know nothing about. They thought alcohol would loosen me up. Get the answers they were lookin’ for. Guess when they realized I wasn’t a spy they got rid of me. Guess I should be thankful they didn’t kill me. But right now, that could almost be better.” He slipped farther down into the bedding.

“That all you can recall?” Pete asked with a bit of a mischievous smirk. One MacGyver failed to noticed.

“Vaguely remember the car that hit me. Remember getting the x-ray of my shoulder done, barely. That’s about it.” Mac said as it was clear on his face he was doing his hardest to search the foggy parts of his memory.

“Don’t remember me coming to get you from the hospital at almost midnight? Or the ride home?”

“No, I don’t, Pete.” Mac snapped. “Should I?”

“No, no.” Pete held up his hands, trying to show he meant no ill will. “Just curious is all.”

“Why?” Mac asked as the horrible effects of alcohol slowly started to dawn on him. “What did I do?”

Pete stopped himself from smiling. “Nothing bad. Just, learned a lot about the way you think.” Unsure how to take that, Mac said nothing. He just gazed questioningly at his friend until he continued. “Just the way you make connections and deductions. Your brain must be a busy, albeit interesting place.”

Mac offered a lazy, uneven blink. “Um, I suppose.” He could feel the drugs starting to kick in as his body relaxed. “What did I say for you to make that decision?” His curiosity fully peaked.

“You said a lot of things. But just know your Russian impression of Scarface will stick with me forever.” Pete said as he started to retreat from the room.

“My what? Pete, wait. What?” MacGyver protested quietly as Peter turned for the door.

“Get some rest, MacGyver. Need you better! Got some blank ceiling tiles at work that need painted.” Pete said as he pulled the door closed. Leaving MacGyver in a short-lived state of confusion before he fell back asleep. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! <3


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